Letter in a bottle

By the time you get this

The hills will have boiled

The shrugging chimneys

Will have spouted forth smokes

The dignity of trees will have reminded you of forbearance

And given shape to your patience

In the fulfilment of time

As you wait out the winter

In the quarries of sadness

The sad stones are crushed

Into mountains of lime

As the rubble lakes lie

In the seas of your eyes

Where blood tears have fallen

From the railway line

These tracks are so forlorn

As iron whiskers worn

By cats

And children who play in the ruins

On the brown broken down platforms

Of the railway line

The picture of sadness of Hungary are not the trees

Or the dereliction of the buildings

These are just superficial responses

To an underlying cause,

What future hopes are there

for any of them?

What future for any of us?